


The one where the Winchester boys heard about the Saint of Killers

by adannu



Category: Preacher, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Dialect, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-20
Updated: 2012-11-20
Packaged: 2017-11-19 03:08:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adannu/pseuds/adannu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Saint of Killers is so badass he leaves badass in the dust and is just plain clear scary. A warning, possibly. A look at what the Winchester boys could become, if they forgot how to be human. Or maybe the Saint’s just a thing with enough hate in it to stand up to the legions of Hell and God Himself. That kind don't really notice much else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The one where the Winchester boys heard about the Saint of Killers

The Saint of Killers is so badass he leaves badass in the dust and is just plain clear scary. A warning, possibly. A look at what the Winchester boys could become, if they forgot how to be human. Or maybe the Saint’s just a thing with enough hate in it to stand up to the legions of Hell and God Himself. That kind don't really notice much else.

Course, there was that one time in Texas, where some preacher man dug up the Saint's bones to get his attention. Onliest thing saved that there preacher man was he wasn't exactly human himself, not with that Word of God he had laid on him, got it 'count of being possessed by the spawn of an angel and a demon. That's what it got to get the Saint of Killers's attention.

Sam and Dean now, they're desperate men, but that kind of desperation, it's a drop of water on a hot griddle against the Saint. Might's well ask a tornado to do the hula. And after last time, ain't nobody too eager to wake up the Saint again. But those two fool boys, maybe they still think they got some immortality in them or they're too blind desperate to think different.

The name of Winchester's got some heft to it, and it does, but this is a different story, son, and it's not a good one. So you sit yourself down, and take a look at the story of how Sam and Dean heard about the Saint of Killers.

They was down Texas way, sitting in a small bar outside San Antone. Listening for anything that might do good for Dean, for Sam. And then there was this Irish fellow, Irish in the middle of Texas ain't all that weird, but this one was. Sunglasses at night like he thought he was some sort of bigshot, drinking like it was water. And he had a powerful thirst on. When the night got that much later, Cassidy -- that was his name -- he started telling this story about a preacher man and a girl named Tulip he'd known oncet.

Sam and Dean weren't minded to pay much attention to him except they heard him saying that the stories about ghosts walking in the Alamo were so much fecking bullshit. And in the fine state of Texas, that's not an easy thing to say. Sure, we're all God-fearing men and women, but there are things as you don't go near.

Alamo's sacred ground.

Lost cause, it were, and every schoolchild has that beat into them along with their reading, riting, and rithmetic, but those folks were damn well going out kicking. And they did, those fine men and women who stood off the whole damn Mexican army for thirteen days.

So the bartender gets this look in his eye and so do the other men leaning near Cassidy, who sure enough weren't a Texan, not with that accent and not with that blaspheming he was doing. Someone, I don't know who, asks him, "How do you know?" in that way that has 'asshole' all over it.

And Cassidy, that one's a brave man or a fool, or both -- because he says, "I know. I saw it all. There wasn't a ghost in the place when the Saint of Killers was there. Too scared of him."

Dean over in the back by Sammy, he's trying to think of anything that might match what Cassidy's saying. "That doesn't sound like anything I've ever heard," he says to Sam. But Sam might have a bit more sense under that hair. He’s wonderin’ about the story that Cassidy's spinnin' there at the bar while Dean's laying bets as to how long he's got before Cassidy gets himself an introduction to the parking lot and maybe someone or five’s fists.

After a bit, Sam gets up and plunks all six hundred feet of himself next to Cassidy and buys him another drink. He smiles at the bartender and sure enough, sweet as sugar, he goes, "I think the story's cool, I'm a student doing stuff on local folklore." Cassidy doesn't question it, just grabs that beer and starts drinking like he's gonna die in the next five seconds.

Sam’s offering that big hamfist of his to Cassidy and introducing himself all polite, calling himself Frank, from the local community college. Then he starts askin’ all kinds of questions, all big eyes and gullibility, and the men fixing to e-ject Cassidy sit down again now he's got some fool to listen to him. 'Stead of the whole damn bar, and maybe now a man can drink his beer in peace.

And Cassidy knows it's all so much smoke up his ass, but he's drunk enough it don't matter, just he got an audience to stop his face meeting gravel. So he clears his throat and goes, "So yeh want to hear the rest of that story?"

Sam's nodding and thinking with a hunter's brain behind those big brown eyes of his. "The -- what did you call it, the Saint of Killers?"

Cassidy puts down his glass and tells that boy just what I told you about the Saint. How the pure-dee meanness in the Saint drove him so hard that when he died the Devil himself kicked him out on account of Hell going and freezing around him. Even gave him a set of Colts made from a sword that used to be the Angel of Death's. Those guns, they could kill anything.

Proved that, the Saint did. He killed old Scratch himself when that one, contrary as he was, went and threw an insult after the Saint as he were leaving Hell with his new guns and nothin’ else.

Sure enough, that makes Dean's ears perk, and then he's bellying up to the bar on Cassidy's other side and asking him all sorts of questions about the guns. But Cassidy's no hard man for all his big talk, and it shows.

Dean's giving Sam these looks over Cassidy's head and Sam's looking right back at him, and Cassidy just shakes his head. Tells them that if even old Scratch couldn't stand up to the Saint then they got no chance. "Besides, not even an eejit would wake up the Saint, and yeh two aren't eejits, are yeh?"

\--

And afterward, Sam wonders if Samuel Colt knew anything about the Saint of Killers when he made the Colt that their family used. But Missouri calls them up and tells them not to go looking for more on account of the Saint and the preacher man nearly killing the whole damn universe between them. Happened all near on thirty years ago, before Dean was even a gleam in Daddy's eye. But that's what must've happened -- demons got out of hell and got onto earth to have themselves a little fun. And the yellow eyed demon got himself an idea.

Demons and ideas together is bad business, I told you. Now, how about that drink, son?

**Author's Note:**

> This probably makes a tad more sense if you're familiar with Supernatural and Garth Ennis's Preacher graphic novel series, but don't let that stop you from reading on.
> 
> Spoilers for the end of the Preacher series.
> 
> Originally posted to LJ mumblety-odd ago.


End file.
